


Elevator Talk

by UprightIguana



Category: The X-Files
Genre: BDSM, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-26
Updated: 2003-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UprightIguana/pseuds/UprightIguana
Summary: A rat is caught, trained and released.  Then what?





	Elevator Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Elevator Talk

### Elevator Talk

#### by Shan

  


Rating: NC-17. Definitely.  
Category: OODP (Out, Out, Damn Plot!)  
Prequels: Elevator Music, followed by Otis, followed by Elevator Ride, and then Elevator Kisses. This won't make sense at all without reading the preceding stories. Pairing: Skinner/Krycek.  
Warning: a lot of kinky male-male sex, D/s, spanking, mild BDSM, and odd conversations with non-human entities. Disclaimer: Standard Fanfic Boilerplate: Don't make a penny, peso, drachma, ruble, yen, euro or pobblebead off 'em. Just wanna play naughty with them for a while, cuz they're yummy. Spoilers: Garage Scene? What Garage Scene? Feedback: . Otis says pretty please, too. Notes: Once more, humble thanks and genuflection to Josan, eagle-eyed beta of the north. 

* * *

The reason I never gave Alex Krycek a key to the condo was that locks and alarm systems were no apparent deterrent to the man. They barely slowed him down, one-armed notwithstanding. And if it had been any other man on the planet, my own personal proximity alarm system would have roused me from the deepest sleep. But not only was Otis now familiar with the comings and goings of one Alex Krycek, he seemed smugly pleased each time the boy showed up. 

The other reason Alex never needed a key after that was because Otis all but flung every door in the building open for him, no matter what time of the night or day - night, usually - he chose to visit. Most nights, though, Otis at least had the grace to give me a few moments of hazy lucidity before a warm naked lean body slid into bed alongside mine, fingers trailing over my already-awake nipples, soft lips and hot breath starting at my navel and drifting south. And then a sweetly searing tongue caressing my balls, wet sinuous tip licking up along the ridge of my rapidly hardening cock and dipping into the piss slit. And then the bastard would make me wait, with nothing but the moist waft of his breath cooling the damp shaft of my cock, before suddenly taking my cock balls-deep in a searing sucking swoop of tongue and mouth and lips that sent the synapses in brain into overdrive, turning my whole body into a single taut muscle. 

And then, the residual Marine-corps-alpha-male kicked in from where he had been hiding in the closet, and I reached down and grab a handful of sable hair. He released me with a last wet suck and a chuckle and allow me to haul his fine self up on the bed, and arranged to my liking on the sheets. I never had to cuff or chain him nowadays; he lay obediently as he was placed, every line of his mouth-watering leanness singing with delectable tension. Sometimes, though, I had the padded quick-release cuffs ready for old times' sake and would go about the business of spreadeagling him out on the bed like a pale entre against my dark Egyptian cotton percale. And then the exquisite torment and delicious torture of Alex Krycek would follow as punishment for his nocturnal shenanigans, for as long as I could personally hold out before letting my aching cock bottom out in that tight delectable ass. 

Holding out never lasted very long. Clasped tightly in his hot stretched hole, I was lucky to remember to thrust my right hand under his belly to find his ignored cock, stroking him slowly and with increasing pressure, until I could feel the fluttering in his lower belly. And sometimes I remembered to order him not to come, bastard that I was, as I held him tightly immobile, jacking him in time to my too-slow thrusts. His whole body was iron-hard with unreleased tension, small whimpers dragged from his throat. 

"Not until I say." 

I took too much delight in the shudders that racked him as he struggled to obey, even as I punched my cockhead again and again across his prostate, my fingers a vice-grip around his pulsing shaft. Eventually, even my control came to its ragged end, and reaching down with my other hand to grasp his drawn-up balls, and increasing the pressure with the in-stroke, I growled out, "Come, boy." 

Then, his neck tendoning as he flung his head back to cry out his release, his ass muscles tightened in excruciatingly delightful torment around my own erection, as I began to jerk erratically with the last few drowning thrusts before slamming into him and into the thundering blood and crashing stars that consumed me. 

I became part of a pile of sated limbs for a while, senselessly draped over him as our heaving bodies calmed and our hammering hearts slowed. A deep languor settled in, and I fell into a dozing slumber, my arms still around his torso and hips, my head tucked over his good shoulder so that his sensitive nape was never too far from my mouth. He seemed to like my considerable weight on him, and because he never complained about sleeping in the wet spot, I didn't always make him. 

It was fifty-fifty as to whether he would be there in the mornings, but when he was, there was the added benefit of a long hot shower and more slick and slippery up-against-the-wall sex before facing the political minefields of the Hoover. Those days, however, the institutional grey of the federal building seemed less soul-sappingly tedious than normal, the governmental denizens less tight-assed, and the piles of field and budget reports less insurmountable. 

* * *

_Good Morning, Assistant Director._

Mornin', Otis. Fine day, isn't it? 

_I might reserve that comment for last night, sir._

Yes, he was particularly fine last night. But then again, it's been a long couple of weeks. 

_The arrangement suits you both well._

He's a bit on the nomadic side. His line of work discourages settling in any one spot for very long. 

_It's not for the lack of wanting._

You think so? If he sticks around long enough I might be able to discuss it with him. Maybe if I cuffed him to the bed for an extended period again... 

_You won't find him terribly reluctant, sir._

I thought not. 

_Assistant Director? We're on the Fifth Floor._

Hmm? 

_You're humming, sir._

* * *

I would be the last person in the world to bitch about living a weird life. Too many compromises, mistakes and choices involving too many factions, governments and disparate agendas had left me terminally suspicious of the motivations of people. And that didn't even include non-human entities. Talk to me about brain-sucking sewerage-wallowing dream-bending creatures that emerged from the sub-strata every half-century or so and I'm sold on even the most precarious balance of Mulder-logic. 

But my burgeoning suspicions about Walter's relationship to his elevator was too weird even for me. 

And yet how to explain the fact that elevator doors were now opening for me before my fingers could jab the call button, or the continued tingling sensation of being watched over, every time those doors closed. Or the fact that I now never seemed to share an elevator ride with anyone other than Walter. Or that niggling feeling of being critically observed by bare walls with benevolent detached amusement. Never mind that Walter had this _really_ odd habit of dragging me naked into the Viva Towers Otis model in the wee hours and having his wicked way with me. 

I had no idea how he knew I was approaching in the dead of night, but every now and then, when I was ready to put my trusty lockpick to work, the door swept open and a burly arm belonging to a meltingly shirtless wide-awake Walter Skinner hauled me into his foyer. If I were lucky, I might catch a glimpse of his devilishly amused eyes behind the glint of his glasses, before being slammed belly up to the wall, a hand on my neck to hold me, my hips pulled back and my legs thrust apart with a thorough police-enforcement precision that drilled straight into my groin. 

And then all of that sexy beast would be pressed up against my back, as he casually did a frisk-and-strip, and before I knew it, I was standing there, naked flesh sandwiched between cold drywall on one side, and hot-burning A.D. Skinner on the other. My good arm stayed obediently pressed against the wall, as his hands nonchalantly played with and pinched my nipples, sliding down to briefly stroke my cock, hold and squeeze my aching balls as I moaned like a slut. 

And then his deep voice, even more gravelly with his lips right by my ear, "Did you get yourself ready for me, boy?" 

The flutter already started, low in my belly. "Yes, sir." I whispered, even as I felt his large strong fingers spreading my crack wide and probing my anus brusquely for confirmation. 

"Good boy." 

And then a quick trip back down the cold drafty hallway, elevator doors opening before we even reached the cab, closing even as I went down on my knees, my face pressed on my hand as ordered. And then the heavy open-handed spanks, hard and painful and dizzingly hot, the sharp cracks on my reddening ass almost ear-splitting in the metal confines of the cab, punctuated by cries I couldn't swallow. My mind teetered between wanting it to end, and wanting it to go on forever, but my body had other plans. The moment the spanking crossed over into something that was broiling desire, burning want, drowning need, the rain of smacks paused, and the hot calloused hand that had punished me now reached down to squeeze my turgid balls _just to let me know he knew_ , the bastard. And when the spanking resumed, my traitorous body was rocking my beaten ass up to meet each downward swing of his arm, the impact setting off more explosions of want and need in my gut. 

By the time his bulbous cockhead pressed for entry, I opened to the rough breaching of my anus like a sex-starved slut, my penis so hard it hurt, dripping pre-cum on the floor like a leaky faucet. 

Of course I enjoyed it. Broad-shoulders, narrow waist, tanned pectorals and unquestionable authority - what's not to enjoy? And being fucked by Walter S. Skinner in the elevator somehow appealed to all my hidden exhibitionist tendencies. 

But it was just _weird_. 

I thought that the small space would have bothered me more. Dark places haunted me - dark thick liquids, dark enclosed spaces, dark fire-lit forests - so it was ironic that I was still so nocturnally active. But elevators that once seemed so threatening with their dim lighting and overly-pleasant metallic beeps and hordes of faceless assassins, were now brightly lit, comfortingly empty, and emanating a feeling of warmth and safety. 

And weirder still, I had the insane urge to utter salutations to an empty elevator. 

What the hell were you supposed to _call_ an elevator? 

* * *

_Your upgrade has arrived, Assistant Director._

Upgrade? 

_Your new desktop._

Now how would you know that, Otis? 

_I am part of the mainframe. I know everything._

Yes, I've been meaning to speak to you about that. You're scaring the guests. 

_Mr. Krycek is intrigued, not afraid._

He always did have a very particular sense of the bizarre. He could give Mulder a run for his money. Chuckle. I'm surrounded by freaks. 

_But we're your freaks, sir._

Skinner wanted to applaud, but he didn't think it would be appropriate in front of the people waiting by the elevator doors on the Fifth Floor of the Hoover Building. He did step off the elevator with most of a smile still stubbornly stuck to his face, and shocked and surprised not a few staffers in the hallway. Some even stopped in their tracks and stared after the AD's broad receding back. 

"What's he been smoking and where can I get some?" muttered one young lion to the attractive blond from Financial Affairs, who primly and needlessly adjusted her skirt. 

"I say it's who he's dating," she offered. 

The young lion snorted. "I'd like to meet the chick who'd take on Old Baldy." 

The attractive blond turned smartly on her heel. "How do you know it isn't a tall dark leather-clad bad-boy on a Harley?" 

"Oh - ewww!" 

"Oh, yeah," she sniffed, " _that's_ masculine!" 

* * *

Skinner's upgraded desktop didn't sit on top of his desk at all. Instead, the monitor had been set into the desk, its screen angled up at him from a discreetly darkened panel with a recessed wireless keyboard that closed completely out of sight in a clever little space hidden in all that mahogany. The CPU was recessed in much the same way, and there was nary a cable or a wire in sight. The polished top of his desk remained intimidatingly free of clutter. 

The second nifty thing about his upgrade was that it was a mega-jump upgrade. Powerful and fast, with its own firewalls and email encryption, it outstripped any commercially-available model without breaking a sweat, and almost did his thinking for him. 

And the third and most nifty thing about his upgrade was a tiny icon on the toolbar that looked suspiciously like little elevator doors opening, which, when he clicked on it, popped up a revolving schematics of the Hoover Building, little moving blips indicating the locations of all the elevators in the building and a window that bore the words, _Good morning, Assistant Director_. 

Somewhere, there was the familiar mental tickle, like polite laughter that seemed to match the pulse of the glowing cursor on the screen. 

He reached for the nifty wireless mouse, and said, aloud, "You aren't planning to uplink to a satellite and take over the earth after lunch, are you, Otis?" 

*No, but I can open every door and window in this building and let out all the air conditioning. It is 92 degrees outside, with 86% humidity today.* 

"Oh, now that's a serious threat to national security," he said. 

The electronic brain-brush which was what passed for electronic laughter was interrupted by the too-real too-intrusive rasp of the intercom buzzer. 

"Excuse me, AD Skinner? Can we discuss your schedule for the week, or do you have someone in there with you?" 

Oops. Reality check. "No. Come on in, Kim." 

On the keyboard, he typed "OK, Otis, tell me about this nifty new encrypted email." 

* * *

I walked into the spacious lobby of Viva Towers resenting the feeling of being summoned. 

Earlier that day, there I was in a secret genetics lab across town, hacking into the computer system and minding my own business. The lab was on the 9th floor of a snazzy office building, masquerading as an off-shore commercial banking company; once you got past the tasteful cubicles that looked like they were inhabited by workaholic yuppies, there was a full-on space-age lab with kick-ass computers that even the Gunmen could tip their collective ESC keys at. 

It was early on a Saturday morning, the added benefit of empty offices. Once the job was done and the code sufficiently monkey-wrenched, I let myself quietly out, confident that no one would know anything was wrong until they fired up the computers Monday morning. I walked down the quiet hallway towards the stairwell. The elevator door slid soundlessly open before I was ten feet in front of it. I froze, half-expecting fluid shadows and non-human assassins. But the interior stood empty, humming invitingly. 

I didn't hear my name called, exactly, but there was an irresistible urge to step into the cab. I looked around, checking once more for cameras I knew weren't there. Empty hallways on either side of me, laced around empty offices. Only the high-rise model Otis that stood open for me like a welcoming hug. 

Despite my better judgment, I stepped into the elevator. 

The doors closed immediately behind me, and the cab descended. I stood close to the door, looking around, and thinking that it was suddenly terribly important to go see Walter. I couldn't think why that thought would suddenly slam into my brain, but it seemed particularly pressing, and I could think of worse things to do on a Saturday than lying pinned naked underneath _those_ hips and shoulders. 

It was just about the quickest smoothest ride filled with all kinds of similarly warm thoughts, and I stepped off the elevator into the parking garage with an unusual sense of well-being and the unrelenting compulsion to cross the Potomac to see a particular alpha-male assistant director. 

It was a bright mid-morning on Saturday, so I gave up all pretence at skulking around, and strode up to the entrance lobby of Viva Towers. To my complete non-surprise, the lobby doors opened three steps before I reached them and as I crossed the marble foyer, the elevator door slid silently open. It was as if there were invisible doormen everywhere. 

In the elevator, the warm thoughts were back and ushered me all the way to Walter's door. 

Which opened as I was standing there, hesitating to knock. 

Walter Skinner stood in his light-filled condo, dressed in blue jeans and tight black t-shirt, a vision that tapped directly at my dick to wake up. He smiled his tight Skinner smile at me and stood aside, ushering me in. 

I resisted the urge to say "You called?" because he obviously hadn't. 

"Beer?" 

I was vaguely disappointed that he didn't haul me up against the wall like he had been given to doing lately; offering me a beer was just too ... suburban backyard barbeque-esque. I was in the Twilight Zone. 

"Sure." 

He handed me a frosty Samuel Adams Boston Lager and we moved awkwardly into the den - he had a den? - where the plasma television screen hung on the wall like gallery painting. It was a testosterone-enriched guy's kind of den; two oversized black leather sofas, black leather recliner, wet bar, media center. A beautiful sturdy six-legged coffee table finished in gleaming dark cherry wood stood as a center-piece. The television displayed the gyrating graphics and overly-macho music commonly associated with weekend football. He picked up one of the four remote control devices that were lined up on the coffee table like a little squad on parade inspection, and hit the mute button. 

It looked like we were going to talk. I hid my consternation behind a swallow from the beer bottle as I eased myself into the cool leather glove of the sofa; I don't do talking well. Scuttling alien conspiracies and complicated strategic plans were one thing, meaningful soul-searching conversation made me squirmy and furtive and ready to rabbit. 

But, of course, this was Walter Skinner, and he didn't disappoint. 

"Encrypted email, Alex." He pinned me with a steady stare, his fingers playing distractingly with the neck of the beer bottle as he sat on the end of the other sofa. "This getting together based on the cycles of the lunar calendar has lost some of its inherent charm. You're free to come and go, Alex, but I'd like word now and then as to state of your wellbeing." 

I had to clear my throat suddenly. "You want me to check in?" Sullen teenage defiance kicking in unbidden. 

He smiled his devilish smile, and reached across to slide his hand around my neck, and pulling me closer to him with an authority that ignited an instant warm spot in my loins. 

"No, I want your naked ass in my bed and available to me at all times, but seeing as you have places to destabilize and people to coerce, I don't expect that you can fit that into your schedule. However, two and three weeks going by without word one from you is no longer acceptable." 

I was inches from his face and his deep penetrating eyes. I couldn't have pulled away if I'd a mind to. 

"Uh - encrypted email, Walter?" 

"Military S-class encryption." He held up a hand. "Before you ask, the Pentagon does _not_ use it." 

I feigned not completely unfelt relief. "Well, that's all right then.' 

"So - I get your promise to drop me a line, wherever you are, every few days, yes?" 

I lowered my eyes so I could look up at him through my eyelashes. Lately, I'm finding it impossible to refuse him anything, and he knew it, too, the bastard. So shoot me for hedging a little. 

"A little incentive," he said. He reached into a back pocket and held up something bright and shiny. 

A newly-cut house-key. 

"I realize that your standard industrial-rated Schlage locks are hardly a deterrent to you, so a key is of little practical use. But that's not why I'm giving this to you." 

The bright shiny metal was suddenly hazy as I took it from his fingers. I turned it over and looked up at him, smiling. "Thank you," I said quietly. 

He still hadn't released me, but now he pulled me in firmly, and kissed me. Any resistance vanished immediately with the hot firm press of lips and deeply probing tongue. Holding my head still, he sucked and bit my lips and explored my mouth thoroughly, and by the time he was done with me, I was breathless and a little kiss-stupid. 

More than a little kiss-stupid, maybe, because I found myself standing at one end of the black leather couch, stripped not only of clothes, but of the prosthesis which he'd become proficient at removing quickly and painlessly. He remained fully dressed, stepping around me, his assessing appraisal of my nude body going straight to my dick. Then, as he always did, he gently massaged the stump of my left arm. He used the soothing lotion he usually kept on the nightstand, rubbing the left shoulder and the ugly truncation that I myself could barely stand to look at. But he never let me get away with ignoring it; he saw it, he touched it, he stroked it. He acknowledged its presence and its history and its toll every time. 

And then he let it go and refocused his formidable concentration on me. 

With a sort of floating-through-air sensation, I found myself facedown, naked skin on cool fragrant leather, warm sunlight filtering in through the curtains overlooking Crystal City seventeen floors below, lazily thinking how unusual it was to be in his abode in the broad light of day. He spread me out, but he didn't cuff me, which was fine because nothing but his deep voice could make me move now. He lifted my hips over a couple of throw pillows, and then knelt on the sofa between my knees, which he spread even wider. The rasp of the denim against my bare skin sending a frisson of heat up my spine. 

His hands and fingers, rough despite the desk job, skated down my flanks, sending shivers through me. And then the hands rest on my shoulders, holding me as he bent to kiss my backbone, starting between my shoulder blades. Wet hot kisses lingered over the chakras, sending shudders that overlapped shudders, spreading out around my chest straight to my nipples, pooling in my stomach as he dropped the next kiss on my nape, and started traveling back down my spine. He left hot burning points where his lips brushed the peach-fuzz between my shoulder blades, sensation that blossomed into little explosions of heat in my gut, which tingled all the way down to the soles of my feet, the palms of my real hand _and_ the phantom one. 

"No fair, Walter," I managed to gasp. 

He chuckled deeply, his mouth pressed against the small of my back, the vibrations sending rippling sensation up my spine and down to the base of my cock. 

"I know," he murmured, hovering now above the crack of my ass. And then strong fingers were holding me spread open, and the wet sinuous tongue was stroking down the slopes of my crack, dipping down to circle my anus and probing me lightly, maddeningly, before dipping down to lick my balls and the ridge of my cock. And then, before any of those sensations could heighten, he moved back up along my spine, dropping his searing kisses over each chakra, sending my whole body as near to climax as it was possible without touching my cock. 

He was still dressed when he pressed his hips against my ass, the denim and cotton, so warm from his body, the surrounding leather, his particular male scent, made me feel even more naked, more exposed, drowning in textural sensation and heady aromas. His lips brushed my ear, and his voice was deep and gravelly, and aimed straight for my cock. 

"So - every few days, drop me a line, Alex," he murmured. "I want your promise." 

_You want the moon, too, Walter? You got it._ But I could only manage an incoherent moan, as his hands found my nipples, pinching and tweaking them. The man must have taken a course in Nazi torture techniques. I could feel the stiff zipper of his jeans pressed between my asscheeks, the seam rubbing deep across my sensitive pucker, prying me open without so much as undressing. If I had a vocabulary in any earthly language at all, I couldn't, at that moment, remember a single word. 

"OK. Let me sweeten the pot." He murmured seductively. 

I had no idea what he meant by that. I have to say I was even more stunned to find out. 

* * *

Alex Krycek stood at the foot of the large kingsize bed and stared down at his own private vision of heaven. Well, it _had_ to be heaven - hell would have frozen over first before he ever thought he'd see _this_ day. 

Walter Skinner lay face down and spreadeagled on the bed. He wore cuffs around his wrists which were attached to the head-posts. He was gloriously naked, his tan uniformly golden-brown against the pale sheets, from the broad shoulders, to the long muscles down his back, to the trim waist and the firm muscular buttocks that were propped up on a pillow. His ankles were unfettered, but he was stretched out and spread open, a feast personally delivered to one Alex Krycek. 

He remained there for as long as he could stand it, and then, finally, he crawled up on the bed, between Walter's thighs, running his hands up along the powerful legs. He relished the feel of the buttocks so firm under his hands, bending and stroking with fingertips and lips, the line of chakras along the spine, paying him back for all the exquisite torment he had suffered. He grinned at the first shudders that rippled through the large strong body, as he dragged fingernails along the flanks, first kissing and then nibbling that spot between the shoulder blades, the nape of his neck. Walter uttered a small groan and bent his head forward in mute offering. 

Alex, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, now took his time to explore the banquet laid before him. He stroked the spine, moving downwards, lingering over the same chakra points that Walter so tormented him with. The unnatural tension in Walter's body the only indication of his nervousness, his fear, the price he was paying for extracting this promise, so Alex kissed and nibbled southwards, soothing the long deep muscles of his back, stroking his flanks and buttocks. He rimmed the tight little pucker, reaching for the lube and penetrating him with a careful finger. 

Walter groaned again, but didn't move. Alex gave him a moment to become used to the intrusion, before easing it out and pushing in again, this time with two fingers. 

"God, you're so tight," he gasped. "You really never have before, Walter?" 

"Really, never," emerged the muffled reply from somewhere deep in the pillows. 

The touch of Alex's engorged penis against the smooth curve of his buttocks sent a shock that rippled through them both. Walter felt something large and hard pressing against his anus, and he willed himself to relax. It felt far bigger than two fingers, and he fought against the frisson of fear, his biceps rippling as he tugged uselessly against the restraints. The pressure increased, and he felt himself start to give against the large intruder, until finally something popped and Alex sank into him with a slickened burn. He arched and yelled out, but Alex now leaned on his one arm, and his stump, and his off-balance weight drove his cock into Walter's hot tightness the rest of the way. He stilled, letting Walter feel the burn before slowly, slowly starting to pump. It was awkward with one arm, but he managed to angle his in-thrusts directly on Walter's prostrate. The sudden flaring burst of sensation caught the big man off guard, his cry choking off in his throat, pulling taut against the padded wrist cuffs, as Alex began to pick up speed. 

He felt pried open, laid bare, subjugated to the hard cock, _claimed_. It was a feeling that was both foreign and frightening, and titillating and hot. As the burning became something less like pain and more like pleasure, he began to move his hips back to meet Alex's thrusts, until the only sounds were deep male grunts and the wet rhythmic slap of skin on skin. And then Alex lay his full weight against Walter's back and reached down to grasp his achingly hard cock with a hand slick with lube. His fingers closed around Walter's shaft, pumping its full length in time with his own thrusts. 

Soon enough, his balls drew up, and then that tell-tale fluttering. Slamming into white explosions and tsunamis of roaring blood and brain-liquefying pleasure so sharp and clear and pure that it consumed his being and brought tears to his eyes. 

**" _ALEX!_ " **

His rectum, already tight, clamped spasmodically on Alex's cock, sending the younger man flying helplessly over the brink, half a breath behind him. His hips slammed hard against Walter's buttocks, as he spurted deep and long into that hot impossibly tight channel and the world dissolved to bright light and white noise... 

Alex roused a while later, a pile of sweaty satedness draped on top of Walter, much as Walter had done to him many a time. He smiled sappily, and kissed the damp back and the broad shoulders beneath him. He reached up with an arm that seemed suddenly too heavy, but managed to flip open the quick-release catches on the cuffs, carefully so as not to dislodge himself from inside Walter. He helped the big man pull his arms down to a more comfortable position, massaging them as well as he could with one hand, and then contented himself stroking the strong broad back and kissing the nape of his neck and his naked scalp, indulging in some general nuzzling and cuddling for a while. 

Eventually, he roused himself enough to get up and fetch warm wash cloths. He wiped down the drowsing Walter tenderly, before giving his own self a cursory once-over. As he turned away to dispose of them, Walter rolled over and reached for him, and he found himself inextricably caught in tangle of muscular arms and legs, and pinned between soft percale and hard chest. A big warm hand stroked the side of his face, which he nuzzled sleepily like a cat. 

"Your promise, Alex," said the big man softly. 

Green eyes fluttered open and fixed on the deep chocolate ones above him. 

"Encrypted emails ... checking in ... every few days ..." his voice drifted as his eyelids became heavy, then fluttered open again. "I promise, Walter." 

His head was held still so that he could properly receive the slow all-consuming soul-deep kiss Walter gave him. 

"Good boy." 

The End   
  

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